


The Final Path

by avi17



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:16:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avi17/pseuds/avi17
Summary: They say that at a certain age, the most likely place for old friends to find each other is a funeral.  After one of particular significance, Lukas, Forsyth, and Python must decide how to spend the last chapter of their lives.  [Written for the March to Deliverance zine]





	The Final Path

**Author's Note:**

> It's exciting to finally get to post this! I wrote this several months ago for the March to Deliverance zine, but had to keep it to myself until the zine was published. I'm not sure what inspired me to write something set so long after the game, but after much finagling and trimming to get it within the word limit, I ended up surprisingly happy with it.

By the time Python arrives at Zofia Castle- or the castle of the One Kingdom, as it’s been called for nearly forty years now- the sky is streaked red and gold in the Pegsatym sunset.

Lukas meets him at the stables.

“You’re late,” he says with his usual small, inscrutable smile.

Python rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well,” he drawls, swinging his leg over the saddle and dropping lightly to the ground, “I ain’t ever been into big, solemn ceremonies."  With a wry grin, he adds, “Didn’t think it’d be appreciated if I fell asleep.”

Eyebrow raised, Lukas replies evenly, “No, I’d imagine not.”

Despite the gentle ribbing, as soon as a stablehand takes the reins of Python’s horse, they stumble together, Lukas grasping for Python’s hand and Python slinging an arm around his shoulders in a rough embrace. Lukas has always been reserved with his affection, as he is with everything, but he leans in- despite how Python must smell from the road- and murmurs, "I’m glad you’ve returned.”

Unlike Python and Forsyth, Lukas hasn’t been in fighting shape in many years, and it pains Python when he visits to notice the beginnings of frailty in him. The cane he had once used only intermittently has become a permanent fixture, as have the delicate spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. His hair is rapidly fading to a soft white, but where Python has only become leaner and sparer over the decades, Lukas has grown rounded and soft from a comfortable life- and that, at least, is a good thing.

They walk the path to the castle in silence, Lukas leaning heavily on his cane and Python lagging behind, weighed down by a pack too full for a brief visit.  Stretching his arms above his head and grimacing at the ache from days spent on horseback, Python turns to his companion and asks quietly, “How’s Fors?”

Lukas’ expression is still mild, but his eyes betray sympathy. "As well as can be expected.”

Python sighs. “Yeah, figured he’d take it hard.”  He pauses for a moment, brows furrowed, before adding pointedly, “…How are you?”

Gaze fixed straight ahead, Lukas answers softly, “I’ll be fine.”

Python’s lips curl into a wry smile, and he shakes his head.  It’s not exactly what he’d asked, but still the answer he’d expected. “’Course you will.”

The castle grounds look much the same as always- the grass is green and soft within the towering white walls, and the first of the ripe oranges hang heavy from the trees. Their smell is comforting, if only in that it’s no different here than in the remotest of villages. He veers off the path a bit to swipe one for later, and if Lukas has any complaints about it, he keeps them to himself.

When Python had first turned down his knighthood, he’d planned never to return to the capital if he could help it, but in recent years he’s softened and found himself back more and more. His post at the frontier has grown lonely, and he’s lost the easy camaraderie he once had with his soldiers now that most of them are decades younger. Over the years, his ragtag band has grown into an organized network of trained citizens throughout the villages and towns, ready to be called upon at the first sign of a threat. But these days, the threats are few- the One Kingdom will never be rid of bandits, but they are no longer the plague they were during the unrest after the war. After all, most bandits are merely men who have nothing and have chosen to steal rather than earn. It’s not a choice Python respects, but he does understand it, and when fewer people starve, fewer turn down such a path to begin with.

It took many years, but Python finally has something of a quiet life- and it’s given him more time to miss the people he left behind.

They pass through the cavernous entrance hall with thankfully little fanfare. Tomorrow there will be a raucous banquet in celebration of the dead man’s life, but today the atmosphere is quiet and somber out of respect. It’s an odd compromise between the Rigelian and Zofian traditions, as many customs in the One Kingdom have become, but today Python is glad of it. His well-worn chain and leather armor and faded cloak always seem out of place in the castle, and he’s not in the mood to be accosted by curious strangers.

Bypassing the empty throne room, they wind through the sprawling halls- Lukas leading since Python has never quite learned the way. At last, they reach the small suite of rooms that Forsyth’s years of service have earned him. Without preamble- he’s never been the type to knock, not with Forsyth- Python pulls open the heavy wooden door.

Forsyth sits hunched over a sturdy table, graying hair and beard uncharacteristically disheveled, eyes red and puffy from weeping. His emotions have steadied a great deal since he was young and wore his heart on his sleeve, but given the occasion, Python had expected him to be a mess.

That’s all he has time to take in, because the moment Forsyth looks up and sees him, he’s bounding across the room and sweeping Python into a bone-crushing hug.  His arms are littered with faint scars, but he’s as strong as ever, and after months apart, the embrace always feels like home.

"You came,” he rasps into Python’s neck.

Normally he might chuckle, but today he stays quiet, one hand absently stroking Forsyth’s hair.  “You thought I wouldn’t?”

Pulling back enough to study Python’s face, Forsyth frowns.  “To be honest, I wasn’t sure.  You never cared for him much.”

Python doesn’t deny that, but he shrugs. “Didn’t come back for him.”  Why he did come goes unsaid, as usual, but they’ve known each other long enough that he’s certain Forsyth knows.

They sit around the table- Lukas silent, Forsyth still sniffling, and Python groaning in relief as he sinks into the chair and drops his heavy pack on the floor. Part of its weight is a hefty jug of Ram wine, which he produces with a tired grin. "For old times' sake, yeah?" He's always found it too syrupy-sweet, but Lukas and Forsyth are both partial to it, and he’s never truly been picky with his drink.

Lukas nods.  “Shall we have a toast, then?”

It’s something of a Zofian tradition after funerals, and one of the few that Python doesn’t mind fulfilling.  In Zofia, death had always been viewed as a peaceful, even celebratory thing- sad for those left behind, but for the deceased, burial is their inevitable return to the arms of the Earth Mother.  Python has never seen it that way- particularly since Mila herself has been taking a dirt nap for decades- but it’s a nice notion. Whatever makes people happy.

“A-ah, yes,” Forsyth agrees, hurriedly getting back to his feet before Lukas can grope for his cane.  He grabs a trio of ceramic goblets from a cabinet along the wall, setting them on the table before uncorking the jug of wine to pour it.  He looks as drained as Python feels, but his hands are steady.

When their cups are full, Lukas raises his first, pausing for a moment- as usual- to carefully consider his words.  “I did not join the Deliverance by choice,” he begins, subdued but smooth, repeating the story that they all know. “I made many decisions while in its employ- some wise, some rash and foolish, and some...I would prefer never to have had to make. But through all of them, Clive gave me his trust. He saw my dispassionate nature- which I considered to be a deficiency- as a virtue, even an asset.” His lips curl into a rueful little smile. “In the end, perhaps it was a bit of both.  But he gave me somewhere to belong, and at the time, that was something I sorely needed.”

He sighs, falling silent for a moment.  Neither of his companions interrupt.

“I regret that we did not keep in better touch of late,” he continues, eyes downcast behind his spectacles, “particularly after he fell ill.”  That had been many months ago- even for Python, so out of touch with the goings-on at the castle, his death had not been a surprise. Only Forsyth had stubbornly maintained that he would pull through- but that was Forsyth, and Python had expected no different.

“But, I suppose life has many regrets.”  Lukas looks as though he’s tempted to say more, but he merely shakes his head, his little smile back and full of memory.  “He was a great man. None could ever truly take his place.”

Forsyth takes a long, shaky breath before he begins to speak.  “Sir Clive was- he was everything I had been told a knight should be. Just, honorable, courageous... That he saw potential in me, gave me a chance when no one else would, I-” He breaks off, voice thick and catching in his throat.  Python expects one final spout-off about Clive’s many virtues, but Forsyth only says, “I will be grateful until my dying day for that.  A-and maybe he wasn’t perfect. I know that now. But I’m proud to have called him my commander- and my friend.” Python has never heard him describe Clive as a friend- in his youth, he had worshiped him far too much for that- but perhaps time had made them equals at last.

Forsyth has already raised his cup, clearly expecting that to be the end of it, when Python speaks.

 “Fors is right- I never liked him.”  Forsyth frowns, and Python holds up a hand- a plea to allow him to say his piece before he gets angry.  “We disagreed on a lot of things, that was no secret. Nearly got me run through a couple times, too,” he remembers with a scowl.  “But y’know what? In the end, he did alright by me. And more importantly, he did right by the two of you.” With a shrug and a wry smile, he concludes, “So he’s alright in my book.”

Forsyth swallows hard, and with an appreciative glance at Python, nods.  He lifts his goblet again, and this time, his companions follow suit, their toast echoing off the stone walls.

“ _Sir Clive!”_

Both Python and- surprisingly- Forsyth drain their wine in one go, while Lukas takes a conservative sip.  A thoughtful silence sits in the room for a moment before Forsyth speaks again.

“P-python,” he begins hesitantly, the nervous tripping over his words still not entirely gone. “When will you be leaving for your post again?” His voice is apprehensive, as though he doesn’t truly want to hear the answer, even though he must. For once, Python doesn’t dread giving it.

Leaning back comfortably in his chair, his lips curl into a small smile. “Well, uh…I was thinkin’ I wouldn’t.”

It’s endearing- nearly comical- to watch Forsyth’s eyes widen as he realizes what Python is saying- surprise and excitement are as transparent on his face as when he was twenty. "D-do you mean…”

Python nods.  “Yeah. The ol’ meat sack ain’t what it used to be.”  He says it nonchalantly, with a little shrug, but it’s true.  Every time he makes the long ride back to the capital, he finds himself more exhausted, and the near-constant aches in his hands and shoulders from years of archery are ever harder to ignore.  “I’m tired. I think I’m done.”

A frown mars the joy on Forsyth’s face, and he asks hesitantly, “Are you certain you’re ready?”

Chuckling, Python replies, “Hey, you know me. I’ve been waitin’ for the easy life for ages now.” That’s not entirely true- he’s found more contentment and fulfilment in the work he’s done than he ever would have thought possible as a young man. Still, though- it’s time. “It was never a question of when I was ready.”

It’s clear that Forsyth catches the implication in the statement, but for a long moment, he doesn’t answer, instead staring pensively into his empty goblet.  When the silence has stretched too long, Python voices the unspoken question.

“How ‘bout you?  Have you thought about finally retirin’?”

With obvious reluctance, Forsyth admits, “...A-at times, yes.  Especially in the last few days, after-” he seems briefly unable to say it aloud, but he pushes on, “-after he passed.”  He looks back up to meet Python and Lukas’ eyes. “He was so strong for so many years, and to see that disappear so quickly, I...well, I realized that we can never know how much time we have left in this life.”

Python understands. Every time a letter had arrived from the castle, and he’d prayed to see Forsyth’s handwriting and not a message that something had happened to him. At least Lukas’ early retirement had given him only one person to worry about on the battlefield instead of two, but his declining health in recent years had been just as concerning.  Life is unpredictable and cruel- it’s nothing short of a miracle that they’re all sitting here now, and he doesn’t especially want to press their luck any longer.

They’ve done their bit for the good of Valentia.  Now it’s time to do something for themselves.

A new worry flashes across Forsyth’s face, and he stammers, “B-but if we did retire, do you really plan to stay here?  You’ve told me a hundred times you would rather-” he pauses with a scowl, clearly unwilling to repeat some of Python’s more colorful phrasing, “-well, that you would never want to live in the capital.”

Lukas speaks up then, his quiet voice commanding attention after his long silence.  “I might have a solution to that, if I may.”

Surprised, Forsyth turns to him.  “O-of course! What kind of solution?”

“Well,” Lukas begins, adjusting his spectacles, “as you know, I had never planned to return to my family after the war.  My brother, at least, had made it clear that I was not welcome to do so.” He sighs. “But in the end, he passed not long after our parents, after a fall from a horse.  With no children yet, his wife chose to return to her family rather than remain at the manor alone.”

This is old news, but it still strikes Python as satisfyingly ironic- that for all Lukas’ brother’s machinations to keep every cent of their family inheritance from him, he ended up dying young and stupid and leaving it all to him anyways.  However, he keeps that less-than-charitable thought to himself.

Still nursing his wine, Lukas continues, “I never particularly wanted the land, but it turned out to be well-suited for a school.  Some students board there while they study, but for the most part, the manor is large and mostly empty. And,” he admits, “at times, lonely.”  One of his thumbs rubs idly on the head of his cane, the other resting neatly in his lap. “The two of you would be welcome to live there with me, if you wish.”

It seems like an innocent suggestion thought of on the spot, and Python does his part in trying to appear surprised.  But it’s too well-rehearsed, and Forsyth is no fool; he looks back and forth between them as understanding dawns, seemingly torn between elation and a bit of betrayal.

“You two have been conspiring!”

Smile widening, Lukas admits, “Perhaps a little.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”  There’s genuine hurt in Forsyth’s voice now, and Python raises his hands in the air defensively.

“Hey, for a long time, you wouldn’t even hear of the big bad “R” word.  But that didn’t mean it wasn’t gonna happen eventually.” Running his fingers through his graying hair and fixing Forsyth with a surprisingly serious look, he continues, “When Clive got sick, Lukas and I figured it was time to think about it, whether you were ready to or not.  So we did. And it ain’t a half bad idea, in my opinion.”

Forsyth looks like he has a protest ready, but instead sighs, defeated.  “...I suppose you’re right. B-but are you certain we won’t be a burden on you, Lukas?”

Python rolls his eyes- _typical Forsyth_ \- but Lukas just chuckles.  “Not at all. I could do with some help with my garden, I can’t quite bend over like I used to.”  With the little twinkle in his eye that always appears when he discusses his beloved school, he adds, “You could even help me teach some classes, if you haven’t lost your scholarly bent.”

Pouring himself another cup of wine, Python smirks.  “Gee, Luke, do I get to teach a class?”

“If you can think of an appropriate subject.”

Python laughs, perfectly aware that means ‘absolutely not.’

Forsyth looks overwhelmed, both hands clutched white-knuckled around his cup, jaw clenched and trembling.  It’s obvious what’s coming before it happens, and by the time the tears bubble up, both of his companions have moved closer, Python wrapping an arm around his shoulder and Lukas resting a hand atop his.

“I-I’m sorry,” Forsyth blubbers, sniffling and hiding his face in embarrassment.  “I-I promise I’m happy, I just-”

“It’s alright,” Lukas murmurs, thumb stroking the back of Forsyth’s hand.  Python rolls his eyes fondly.

“Hey, I’ve always said you cry so much because you’ve gotta do it for all three of us.  Guess this is no exception.”

Laughing wetly, Forsyth grasps both of their hands, one in each of his.  He opens his mouth, then closes it again, as though there’s too much he would like to say to know where to start.  Shaking his head, he decides simply on, “…Thank you. Both of you.”

After a moment of easy, comfortable silence, Python asks, “So, how ‘bout it, studs? Think we can handle one more big adventure?”

Lukas smiles.  “I think so.”

There’s no telling how long they’ll have.  But whatever is to come, they’ll face it- at last- together.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback always appreciated :)


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